There is a blue sky above my screened in porch and I can see it between the trees and under the side of the porch I look form. It is clear. It is nice to be afforded a luxury to be out on the porch in the middle of the day without having sweat permeate my shirt and shorts as my demeanor grows less and less optimistic. Not so this day. Though I am dumbfounded that it is already Sunday afternoon, the weekend has been a good one.
This is a beautiful day on the porch.
Friday Night…
On Friday night my dear wife, Carrie, and I picked my Dad up at his house and the three of us drove over to Crawford County High School to watch the North Harrison Cougars play the Crawford County Wolfpack in high school football game. It was the first game of the season and to tell you the truth it was a bit of a clunker. North won 38 to 8. The game started like a season ending contest when at the end of the season both teams barely have a pulse and are ready for the season to be over. I am not sure why? North had the better team. The eye test proved that. North had a better record last year. North had three times as many player as Crawford. Still…it did not seem like game day when the ref blew his whistle and waved his arm to move the kicker to approach the ball for the first kickoff of the season.
I know better games are in store for North this year and that we will no doubt see the plot in full, juicy thickness next week when the North Harrison Cougars host the county rival Corydon Central Panthers in Ramsey. The band will be there. The hill will be full. The smell of pork wieners will fill the air and the pads will no doubt be popping a little bit harder with more regularity. But as I told a few near me: a win is a win is a win and you take’em however you can get’em.
Topsail Beach is well represented on the back porch.
To my right is my great-grandmother’s “floor fan” and it packs a punch. It can flat move the air and it runs like a sewing machine. As a child I sat on it to cool off after baseball practice circa 1977. She lived in that house on Bridge Street some 53 years before she moved in 1979. I am sure this fan was there many of those days.
Friday night/Saturday Morning…
My in-laws needed a ride from the air port on Friday night. Carrie and I were glad to provide the ride. While at the Crawford County football field,I got a call from Mike, my father-in-law. They were in Phoenix. The plane they were to board heading for Denver was not going to be on time. Thus, their plane coming into Louisville, where Carrie and I were to pick them up, was not going to be on time. We started the evening with the plan of picking them up at the air port around 11 PM. We saw them walking down the pedway from the guarded secure gates to regular groundlings waiting to meet the passengers after 2 AM. It was late. I was quickly reminded yesterday, when I got out of bed, that I am not as equipped at handling awkward hours anymore.
This is what I look at as I am speaking the rights.
Saturday afternoon.…a little after 1 PM yesterday, I met up with Jefferson Carpenter, his wife, Mary Kennedy, and drummer-good guy extraordinaire John Hayse at Jefferson’s recording studio in Louisville, KY. It was my second trip into Louisville of the day. It was odd.
We sat and listened to the songs we recorded in June. The got some more treatment in July. We sat there and listened to each of the songs and compared notes as to what could be done to make them better. Re-sing this one. Put fiddle here. Put backing vocals there. Put keys here and there. It is all good fun. It is also kind of sad. When you get to this point in the recording process, you know things are on the down hill. The songs are there….written and recorded (rhythm track wise) and the rest is a tweak here and there and an extra layer here and there and it is wonderful. But…it is a process that is hard to say good-bye to. You are having fun dear friends (the songs) and there comes a day when all you can do is open up the album and remember. That is not a bad thing. That feeling is not as great as having fun with friends. Is it ever?
Speaking the rights…
Danny Johnson